


Waiting

by prizewinningfruitcake



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, Dom Fenris (Dragon Age), Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Kinda, M/M, Mild Kink, Shameless Smut, Smut, i love fenris topping good day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 03:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16380812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prizewinningfruitcake/pseuds/prizewinningfruitcake
Summary: Fenris is just trying to finish what he's working on, but Hawke is hard to ignore.





	Waiting

“I can’t sleep until you come.”

“Is that so?” Fenris chuckles and sets down his pen. The covers toss, a foot, then an arm, then Hawke’s disheveled head emerges. 

“I’m awake, aren’t I?” he says. His cheek on his bare shoulder, arm extended over the edge. It’s late. Fenris is a slow writer.

“I’ll come to bed once I’m finished.”

“Wherever you like, as long as you come,” Hawke says.

“Garrett.”

“What?” 

“Go to sleep.” His voice is thick with a suppressed smile. To laugh would only encourage him.

He wants to finish his letter before he loses his focus, in time to pass to a courier in the morning. A report, a list of facts, that’s all it is, but it needs to sound right.

“Fenris,” a loud whisper from the bed, and he barely turns around this time.

“Yes?” 

Hawke pushes the blanket down to his waist. “I want you to fuck me.”

“I gathered that,” Fenris looks at him laid on his back with a hand in his hair, the other stroking the ridge in the cover between his legs, soft and pleading. Beautiful. His hesitation is defeated already, but Hawke likes this game. “You’ll have to occupy yourself until I’m ready.”

He grins, wide satisfaction, and kicks the covers further off. He’s naked, the clothes he wore into bed discarded on the floor. 

With some effort, Fenris turns back to his page. 

_I have made progress in_

What comes after that? What’s he made progress in again? Right. Now how to phrase that? There’s a huff, heavy breathing and sheets rustling. 

The next sentence stutters out one labored word at a time, the period at the end a small victory. Rattling from behind him, rummaging in the drawer of the bedside table.

Fenris turns to look after a moment of deliberation. Hawke is occupied with a small bottle, slicking his fingers. He’s about to look away, but Hawke catches him. 

“Finished already?” He shifts his hips, his cock hard against his thigh. 

“Patience,” Fenris says, picking up a book at random from the shelf above the desk. 

He’s purely pretending now, attention too divided to work. His cock is straining, nagging him, but he keeps his hands on the surface. He blindly flips pages, biding his time. Warmth at his back, Hawke’s murmurs growing ever more urgent. 

For distraction’s sake, he copies a sentence onto a scrap of paper, a series of loops and lines. He knows what Hawke looks like, every bit of him, every arrangement of his body. He can picture him lying on his back with thighs spread apart, on all fours and holding his cock. He’s seen him, touched him, mapped him.

But still, he steals a glance. Hawke is sprawled out, a hand between his legs, fingers inside him, the other stroking his length. He looks up through half-lidded eyes and smiles. “You can’t help yourself,” he says.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t look,” Fenris replies. “Take your hand off. Wait for me.” 

Hawke slowly withdraws his hand from his cock. “Maker, you’re _mean_.”

Fenris nods, and makes a show of elaborately folding a page. He shuffles around looking for an envelope. Hawke groans and bucks, frustrated but keeping his hand above his waist. 

He’s waited long enough. He’s achingly hard, wet with desire. Fenris stands and pulls his shirt off. Stepping out of his leggings, he notices Hawke has flipped onto his stomach, grinding hips into the mattress. 

“Hmm. I suppose I only said to take your hand off.” He advances, climbing to sit on his knees at the end, a view of him. 

Hawke looks over his shoulder. “I thought you might like it.”

He does. He likes the curve of Hawke’s waist, the fleshy backs of his thighs. He caresses one of them with fingertips, then grabs a fistful, savoring the strangled cry he receives. He watches his arse moving, pressing against his fingers, stretching himself. 

Fenris unfolds over him, the tip of his cock barely grazing over his back. Hawke continues his effort, cranes his neck towards him, licking his lips. Ready for him. Extending a little further, Fenris pushes in to claim his lips, eager and open mouth, soft against bristles from his beard, and Hawke moans into him. 

A bit of rearranging. Fenris sits up again, takes Hawke’s wrist and pulls his fingers out, a murmur of disappointment becomes a gasp as he gives Hawke’s arse a firm slap. He coaxes his hips upward off the bed, a moment to admire the red mark he left. 

“Fenris,” Hawke speaks hoarse. He’s still moving, practically waving his arse at him. “Please.”

Now he’s made him beg. Fenris hums with anticipation, retrieves the bottle from where Hawke left it. Slicking himself with one hand, he uses the other to roam his back, his sides, his arse and thighs. Hawke is nearly vibrating with need, leaning on his elbows, spreading his legs wider, and he heaves as Fenris plunges a finger inside him. 

They rumble together, radiating heat. Fenris strokes, another finger gently curving, teasing him. He withdraws his hand and grips either hip, lining himself up. A hand steady on the apex of his thigh, and Fenris breathes, “Are you ready?”

Hawke glares, breathless, exasperated, and nods. Slow, Fenris pushes against his entrance, reaching to brush the underside of his cock. Hawke reddens and pants heavy, taking him in. His hips twitch, trying to push back, but Fenris holds him still until he’s entered him completely. 

They stay that way, steadying themselves, adjusting. Fenris plants a hand in the center of Hawke’s back, and he arches up into his thrust. They move, Fenris’ hand gripping him again, stroking, matching his hips’ rhythm. Hawke moans, loud and desperate. His cock twitches in his hand, dripping desire. Fenris pushes into his heat, harder this time, quickening his pace against the pliant curve of his arse. He bites his lip, restraining himself.

Sweat beads and drips from both of them, Hawke’s hair matted against his temples. He looks back at Fenris, dazed, lips parted, and Fenris needs more of him. A hand under his chin to bring him closer, and he kisses him fervently, tongues lapping. 

“Oh Fen...fuck,” Hawke murmurs incoherent as they break apart. He’s trembling all over, and Fenris’ hand stills on his cock. He won’t last much longer. 

Fenris growls in response, crashing into him, relentless, punishing. Hawke’s hips waver, collapse under the pressure, and they lay flat. This is what he wanted - to be crushed, helplessly fucked, and Fenris wants to give him that, to possess him entirely.

He digs in, pounding hard and harder, Hawke underneath him rutting into the mattress. He reaches under him, enough space to squeeze him again, and trails sweet salty kisses over his shoulder as Hawke comes shuddering into his hand. 

A deep swallowing breath, writhing freely together, and he comes inside him. They don’t quite stop moving, gentler, slower now, and Fenris wraps his arms around him as they let their breath catch up.

“Maker,” Hawke rasps, letting out a delirious giggle.

Fenris presses a kiss into the back of his neck, and reluctantly pushes himself up. He crosses to the table, a rag and a jug of water. He wipes himself off, and hands the jug to Hawke.

Hawke accepts it, turning onto his side. “I love you,” he says. He takes a long draw, and sets it aside, reaching out again for Fenris, who settles again opposite him. 

They’re too hot for the covers now. Fenris cups his face and kisses him, tangling their legs. “I love you,” he whispers into his mouth. Hawke shifts to lay his head against his chest.

Fenris thinks he’s asleep for a moment, but he mumbles, “Did you finish your letter?” 

A low chuckle, and Fenris says, “You know I didn’t.”

“Sorry.”

Fenris gathers him closer, a swell of affection as he says, “It can wait.”


End file.
